


But Time Didn't Stop

by Ericadawn16



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sarah Jane Adventures, Torchwood
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-26 14:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12559604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ericadawn16/pseuds/Ericadawn16
Summary: What happens to everyone after CoE? How do they cope with finding out what really happened and the aftermath? Is there any hope for Jack?This was originally started in July 2009...





	1. June 5th, 2010

June 5th, 2010

Gwen buttoned the romper suit and smoothed the wrinkles where the fabric pooled around his arms. It was a hopeless exercise, and one that her son treated as a game, waving his arms to make it worse. She stuck her tongue out in defeat and traced the yellow animal embroidered on the front; a pterodactyl. Her smile faded as she took the four month old in her arms. He was her little souvenir of a terrible year which made her smile inside as the song said and she wanted him to teach her how to live again.  
His little bit of dark hair was just like hers and so was his mouth. Rhys had contributed his nose and chin. 

“You’ll be quite handsome one day,” she told her son and forced herself to stare into those eyes that were some genetic mockery of biology. The woman kissed his cheek, inhaling the overpowering scent of baby powder as they left the nursery and made their way down the stairs. It was a wonder they found the time and energy to decorate this new place of theirs. Passing the pictures in the hall gave her pause and she stopped, pointing at one.

“Look, there’s mummy and daddy,” she spoke and tried not to add, when we were happy. It wasn’t Rhys’ fault. He tried and she loved him, but…but sometimes he wasn’t as strong as her ghosts. They’d work through it; they always had before…she just needed time. It was almost like looking at strangers in that wedding photo. In that moment, in that event, almost all of them had deceived themselves that they were immune to the curse of Torchwood, that nothing could touch them. 

“And Owen and Toshiko, they worked with mummy,” Gwen continued at another photo with the two of them sitting at the table with drinks. Tosh was grinning ear to ear at having finally snagged that dance with Owen. She had never seen her coworker so happy before that and she had never seen her that way again. For a week, the Welshwoman had become almost obsessed with finding footage or a picture of the dance…but it had gone undocumented. Now, only she and Rhys remembered and when they died, it will be like they had never existed at all except for a roster of employees and a couple of birth certificates. She thought of Tosh’ funeral with all her family there, like the true hero she was. 

Owen had never been much for ceremony or proprieties. He’d insisted that he wouldn’t come to her wedding if she paid him and had only come in the end because of his Torchwood obligations. Even if they had found a body to bury, she wondered if Jack would have done a funeral since Owen would have never approved of it. They’d bought him a tombstone anyway beside the woman that almost became his wife. When the stone went up, it was the first Gwen had ever heard of Katie although she suspected Ianto knew something. Ianto knew everything and they knew nothing. 

Her brown eyes began to water and she took a deep breath; turning her attention to another framed memento of her wedding.

“That’s Uncle Jack and Uncle Ianto, you…you wouldn’t be here if not for them,” she croaked because the words didn’t want to come. She called him “Uncle” because that felt like he wasn’t truly gone. If she called him “Uncle”, he could just be coming back. If she called him “Uncle”, then for a moment, she could forget and she called Ianto the same because it’s what would have happened, what should have happened after her son was born. Ianto was why Jack wasn’t here, why Jack was traveling, why he didn’t seem able to live with himself. 

Oh sure, it was Steven that pushed him over the edge, but Jack never would have done it if Ianto hadn’t been ripped from him. She doesn’t think he could have done it otherwise. No, no, he wouldn’t have. She could have never done it herself. She’s certain of it as she looks in her son’s eyes, but then she thinks of Rhys and if he died…and how Owen shot Jack so they could open the Rift and they let him. She’d known what Jack was, but did that make the murder any more right?

At those times, she can understand why he did it. Another memory came to mind.

“Ianto, we’re having a baby,” he had pronounced loud and clear, so happy. She thinks Ianto must have been happy, too, but it’s such a blur. It was because of the boy in her arms that they found out what Jack was carrying and their lives had been saved, but it was only momentarily. What if they had all died in that explosion? It wasn’t right to think that way. It wasn’t fair to them, but what if? What if? What if?

She played that game so often that she wanted to stop, but she couldn’t. What if Ianto hadn’t gone with Jack to London? What if Ianto had lived? 

He had always been so full of surprises that she had always expected one more. As they sifted through the rubble, finding the wrist strap remains and lower levels intact, she kept hoping there would be something yet it yielded nothing, just like his house. The only new information came from Rhi and she was sad for the hearing. Their father had never been a master tailor and had never taken them to the Electro. He had been too busy and when he did find time for his children, it involved his hand or a belt. Gwen was left with the feeling that maybe she had never known Ianto at all and now the chance was gone forever. Still, Rhi had also said that her brother had never felt like he had belonged or been happier than when he joined Torchwood. 

Ianto was always the loudest of her ghosts and she supposed it had a lot to do with his being the youngest. She could still remember when she was twenty-five and she felt as though her whole life was ahead of her. She could do anything she wished. He’d been hardly more than a kid. 

“Do you think Jack will come?” asked Rhys, appearing in the doorway as he buttoned his suit coat. The last time she’d seen Jack, his coat was buttoned along its entire length as though it was the only thing keeping him intact. She shook her head. 

Later that day, they sat in chairs as the names were read. When the speaker announced, “Ianto Jones, age 25,” she couldn’t help blubbering and her husband’s arms encircled her. Her son was silent; stronger than she was in some respects. Sometimes, she’d see something when she was out with the boy, like passing where St Teilo’s used to be, button pins or a TinTin book and she’d start crying. It was embarrassing and awful, but what made it worse was when people came up to her. They’d say something like, “It’ll get better as the baby gets older.” Gwen was not simply suffering from some sort of after birth depression that would go away. Not only were they all dead, but she had to sort out being with the baby and Rhys and aliens and rebuilding the Hub and hiring new employees and meetings with the new Prime Minister. Sometimes, she fantasized about turning it all over to Archie or Johnson, but that would mean that she let them all down.  
Gwen was glad that three were attending the ceremony on Torchwood’s behalf, just as there had been three of them that day. Rhi had stayed home; claiming she had neighbor children to watch.

Earlier in this year that should never have happened, Gwen attended the memorial for the battle of Canary Wharf. She knew when it had first happened that there had been twenty-seven survivors. Now, three years later, there were only twenty. Five had eased their guilt of remaining behind the easy way: with a gun or a rope. The Welshwoman was ashamed to admit such thoughts herself, but she wouldn’t do it. She would live for Rhys and her little boy. Gwen squeezed Rhys’ arm and kissed her baby’s cheek. He must have known what he would be called before they did because his eyes were the same blue as they were the day he was born and they’d named him Ianto.  
Jack never came.


	2. John Hart: September 14th, 2009

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain John Hart finds a very different Jack in Mexico City.

John Hart was enjoying this traveling business as he walked along a street in Mexico City. It happened so often that it was only a matter of time before...  
BAM!!! A fight broke out and John fought his way to the thick of it; not really caring whose side he was as long as he was the cause of blood being spilled. Several exuberant minutes later, sirens pealed into the air and he ran away from there. He could have used his wrist- strap but he preferred the danger. Clapping came from behind and a voice called, "And John Hart, to think I never thought I'd see you again."

"Jack, you're a sight for sore...eyes “he concluded with less feeling as he turned around and saw his ex-husband's face. He had seen him look that bad before, but only after being tortured within an inch of death.

"What happened to you?" he asked without hesitation and with a grin, "Does Eye Candy refuse to put out anymore?"

Unfortunately, this prompted the taller man to swing his fist at his face. It connected with his lip; splitting it. He tested with his tongue and tasted the metallic flavor of blood. With a smile, he decked him in the jaw. Jack shook it off and grabbed John’s arm, pinning it behind his back. 

“I thought maybe living around them would make you soft,” John spoke, sweeping his leg across the other’s so that he lost his grip and fell. “I’m glad to see you still have it.”

A hard kick to his ankle felled him to the ground as well and Jack grabbed his neck in a choke hold. Even as he struggled to breathe, he was able to do a hard elbow to the stomach and his ex-husband let go immediately. His right hand went to his gut where he was hit and John flipped him so that his arm went across his chest, restraining him. After a grunt from Jack, John couldn’t help commenting, “Or maybe he domesticated you, after all. Mind you, the suit is a looker, is he as wild in bed as he looks?”

The head of the man in his arms swung back and connected with his skull. In his daze, he released his hold; Jack kneed him in the groin and smashed his face with his fist. For a second, he was able to think that his nose must be broken but the other man picked him up, throwing into the wall so dust floated to the ground. Then, Jack was forcing his arms into that same wall along with a knee grinding into his crotch that hurt like hell anyway. Never had John seen such fire in those blue eyes directed at him. His ex-husband let go of one arm in order to grab his chin so the only thing to do was look at Jack’s pained face.

“Don’t you EVER talk about Ianto! He…he was a better man than we could ever be,” the man hissed and threw him to the ground before he started to walk away. 

"Oh bollocks,” John said to himself. The only person Jack had become that incensed over before was Gray and he’d caught the past-tense of verb. Eye Candy was dead. It was sad to realize that the orgy would definitely never happen now and that was too bad because he looked like he must have been incredibly sexy under that suit. 

“Jack, let me buy you a drink," John suggested, hobbling over to him. “Come on.” His hands were deep in the pockets of that navy blue coat he insisted on wearing despite it being an exceptionally warm September afternoon. However, when he looked at the other’s face, Jack turned away, but not before John had caught that he was crying. Now, he refused to be declined. 

“Just one drink,” the shorter man spoke and managed enough adrenaline to stand in front of him, “One drink in his memory.”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Jack agreed without another word which wasn’t like him either. They made their way to the closest cantina where the taller man slid into a dark booth and the other ordered a full bottle of tequila with two glasses. He poured each of them one and slid a glass across the table.

“How long has it been?” John asked as he settled into a better position; the wood creaking around him. Jack ran his finger along the rim of the glass for several seconds. His gaze was on the golden liquid. 

“It’s been three months, ten days and about an hour,” he replied and looked up. The shorter man hoped he wasn’t going to cry again

“What happened?” John inquired against his better judgment.

“Doesn’t matter, it was my fault,” Jack spoke. “They all deserved better and I came along.”

The man was beginning to feel like he should change the subject before his ex-husband shot himself in front of him or something. 

“Remember when we fought in that war in the Horsehead Nebula? The Ghost Wars, they call it, that was a lot of fun,” John reminded him. “Shooting the bad guys…and we were able to pick the bad guys.”

A smile tried to form at the edges as Jack admitted, “It was fun and they eventually made a peace treaty, still sticking as far as I know.”

“Maybe this planet is just too small. You aren’t required to stay, just leave,” the shorter man suggested before draining the glass. The other fingered his coat and said, “I don’t know…I don’t know if I could do that and just…leave them.”

“They’re dead,” John replied without thinking and tried to soften the blow. “At least take off the coat, you must be hot.”  
Jack shook his head and played again with the unbuttoned flaps.

“He liked the coat,” he spoke and in a softer voice, added, “They both did.”  
There was no telling who this second dead person was, but it was getting on his nerves. Jack hadn’t taken even a sip of his drink. 

“There was a time when we were together that I could believe that you’d sell out your own child if you had one to save your skin,” he complained while pouring himself another glass. “What happened? You’re not fun anymore. You’ve just become…sad, certainly not the Time Agent of the Year that I remember.”

He settled back with his new drink, but was taken aback as Jack opened his mouth for a rebuttal, closed it and took the whole bottle of tequila; more than half full. In just a few gulps, he finished off the entire bottle. For once, John didn’t know what to say. Then, the taller man leaned across the wooden table of the booth and kissed him. He stopped after a quarter of a minute and he would have understood if the other couldn’t continue, but he did, deepening the kiss to involve his tongue. John had to admit that he was feeling much better since the fight especially his crotch.

“Let’s get out of here,” he suggested; drinking the remaining glass and standing up. His rented room wasn’t far and Jack was pulling his coat sleeves off as he tried to open the door with the key. A brief pause in action did occur when he found the scar on his wrist that his brother had left behind, but it couldn’t be helped. There was kissing, there was pulling off of clothes, there was touching and it was wonderful. The first time as he screamed John’s name, his real name, was wonderful. The second time…his wasn’t the name yelled out in bliss. He assumed it was the tequila talking since Jack threw most of it up afterwards, but the third time, he said Eye Candy’s name again and John noticed his eyes were shut…probably had been shut the whole time. The taller man lay sleeping while he was wide awake. He could never compete with a ghost; much less an idealized one. John took one last look at his ex-husband lying on the bed. His brown hair was sticking in all directions, one hand clutched part of the red sheet while the other, with the silver watch, rested on his stomach; almost protectively. 

“I don’t want to, but I’m going to love you until the day I die, you selfish son of a bitch,” he declared and kissed the man’s forehead. He didn’t even stir as John put together his things. He’d had enough of this planet. It was time to move on.


End file.
